Shifter
by Mummyluvr
Summary: As Dean’s time grows short, Sam notices a change in his brother’s behavior. It turns out that his own brother has been keeping a secret from him, a secret that could change both their lives, and save his own…
1. Prologue

**Title:** Shifter

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** As Dean's time grows short, Sam notices a change in his brother's behavior. When he finally investigates, he finds something that even a seasoned hunter would never expect. His own brother has been keeping a secret from him, a secret that could change both their lives, and save his own…

**A/N:** Another one of those stories that started with one scene that I loved (the prologue, actually) and just expanded from there.

**Warnings:** None.

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural and its characters are not mine. I'm simply throwing my hat into the "let's come up with crazy ways to save Dean from Hell" ring :)

* * *

Shifter

Prologue

_July 22, 1990_

"Daddy?"

John turned toward the hallway, where his youngest stood rubbing at tired eyes. Sammy sniffled, wiping at his nose, looking up at his father through a haze of confusion and fear. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"I had a nightmare."

John sighed, shutting the text he'd been pouring over since before Dean had put Sam to bed. He scooted over on the couch and motioned for the boy to join him. Sammy smiled wide and obeyed, padding across grimy carpet to slide up beside his father.

"You changed your PJs," John noted as the boy snuggled up next to him.

"Huh?"

"You were wearing the brown ones before. Now they're Superman."

"Oh." Sammy shrugged. "I like Superman."

His father nodded and wrapped an arm around the boy, a little surprised at the way the kid still fell into the embrace. He hadn't been taught life's hard lessons yet, hadn't been told that he'd almost been killed the year before, hadn't been told that in reality a simple arm can't protect you, even if it does make you feel safe for a short time. "So, what did you dream about?"

Sam looked up at him with wide eyes, haunted eyes. "Everyone left."

"What?"

"We were at home, and we were all together, and mommy was even there. I walked downstairs to eat breakfast and you were all in the kitchen and when you saw me…" He gulped. "You saw me and then mommy walked away. She just went out the door and never came back. And you looked at me and you said it was my fault and you left, too. And then it was just me and," he paused, "and Dean. And he said he didn't want me anymore and he left, too. And I was all alone."

John sighed, tightening his grip around the boy's small shoulders. "Well, we're not going anywhere. You don't have to worry, Sammy. We're not gonna leave you alone."

Sam looked up at him with those wide, accusing eyes. "You leave all the time."

"But I always come back." John shook his head, a small, comforting smile forming on his lips. "I will _always _come back for you, son. No matter what."

The boy bit his lip, looking down at the floor, snuggling a little closer to the older man. "Because you love me?" he asked, his voice small, scared.

"Because I love you."

"More than anything?" He turned his eyes up to John, his whole face lighting up with hope.

"In the whole wide world," John replied, the response triggering memories of happier times, times before fires and demons and shtrigas. Times when he and Dean had the whole conversation worked out, every question and response perfected.

Sam smiled, apparently pleased with the answer, and buried his head in his father's shirt, startling the older man. "I love you, too, daddy," he whispered, and John felt his heart clench.

It was too much. Too much running, too much hunting, too much pain. The little boy was too innocent for this job, too innocent to be pulled into it like his brother had been. There had been no saving Dean, no way to fight it. He had seen the fire, had probably seen his mother. Sam was young. Sam had forgotten. So they fought for Sam, they kept him in the dark, just as long as they could.

He sighed, his fingers absently lacing through his youngest boy's hair. He'd almost lost the kid, almost been too late. And where had Dean been? Dean had been at an arcade. He just couldn't trust the kid anymore, couldn't look at him the same way. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it had to be taught. Life was cruel, and it wouldn't cut them any slack. They'd both learned the hard way.

He sat there, staring into space, rubbing the boy's back, until Sam's breathing evened out and he fell back to sleep, his fingers curled into his father's shirt. Smiling, John lifted the boy into his arms and carried him back to the room that he was sharing with his brother.

He nudged the door open with his foot and walked in, heading toward Sammy's bed. The covers had been pulled up to hide a lump. Upon closer inspection, John found that the lump had dark, curly hair.

The hunter spun to look at Dean's bed. The covers had been pulled down and it was empty. He looked back at Sam, the Sam in the bed. He looked down at the boy in his arms. "Dean?" he whispered.

The child he was holding stirred, but didn't wake. He moved closer to John's chest, muttering something about love and abandonment. His father swallowed hard, his throat producing a dry clicking sound as he laid the boy out on his rightful bed and pulled the covers up.

He leaned close, looking over his son. He was a flawless impersonation, perfect in every way. Curly hair, chubby cheeks, large eyes.

Goosebumps broke out on the hunter's skin as he backed from the room, closing the door. He leaned against the thin wooden slab and felt every muscle in his body weaken. He slumped to the floor.

A perfect imposter. For the past three months, Sam had been having nightmares whenever John was home. He'd been coming out of his room, had been snuggling close on the couch, or bed, or whatever, had been asking the same questions. Did John love him? Would he ever leave? Was he, Sam, the favorite? Why had Dean been acting so funny lately? Didn't John love _him_, too?

Sighing heavily, he leaned his head back against the door. It couldn't go on, couldn't continue. Dean had to know that what he was doing was wrong, that what he had somehow become was wrong.

He pushed himself slowly up off of the floor, bones creaking, joints aching, face determined. He headed back into the living room, where he'd left his papers. He had research to do. He was going to have to teach his oldest boy about the evils of shape-shifters.

* * *

Well, there you have it. The prologue. If you like it, if you're interested, if you want sing unending praises to me, feel free to review. If not, hey I still like constructive criticism.


	2. Chapter 1

Wow. I'm surprised at the response this one is getting. Hope I can keep y'all interested.

Oh, and while I'm at it, I might as well ask if anyone is planning on heading to the WinchestMidwest Con in June? Maybe I'll see you there :)

* * *

_Present Day_

Sam opened his eyes as soon as he heard the door close. It was the third time that week that Dean had snuck out after dark, and Sam was starting to wonder where he was going. When he came back he didn't smell of beer or smoke, so it wasn't a bar. He didn't smell like popcorn, so it wasn't a late-night movie. In fact, he didn't smell like anything but Dean. It didn't make sense.

So, Sam had decided to do something about it. He threw back the covers and slipped into his shoes, fully intent upon following his brother into the night. Honestly, he wouldn't have been so suspicious if time wasn't growing so thin, if they had more than a month. It wasn't like he thought that Dean was trying to break the deal- he would never do that- but the older man _was_ up to something, and he wanted to know exactly what that something was.

He pulled open the door and gazed out into the night. Crickets chirped in the darkness as he headed out across the parking lot, following the retreating figure of his big brother. He concentrated on his footsteps, trying to keep them as quiet as possible, trying to stay unnoticed.

He followed Dean across the parking lot and into a field before the older man finally ducked into what might have counted for a forest in the rural area. It was just a small patch of tress, but it was dense enough and dark enough that Sam lost the older man.

Leaves crackled around him, he heard the sound of a bag unzipping, and then heard more footsteps. Straining his ears, Sam tried to follow them out, tried to find his brother again.

The forest ended at the side of a road. Across the street, Sam could see a poorly lit playground, complete with slide, swingset, and jungle gym. One of the swings was moving in the darkness, creaking ominously back and forth in the still night air. The sound sent chills down his spine and raised the hair on the back of his neck, but he followed it, nonetheless.

Ducking down behind an old oak tree, Sam gazed across the playground to the swingset. A small boy sat on one of the cracked blue seats, slowly pumping his legs back and forth, causing the swing to move up and down, up and down.

Sam scoured the playground, looking for Dean, but couldn't see him. There was only that single little kid, swinging back and forth. Sighing, Sam decided to head back to the room. Maybe Dean had known that he'd been followed, maybe he'd used to forest to confuse his brother.

He almost left, but couldn't quite bring himself to. After all, it was dark, and late, and starting to get chilly. The kid was all alone, and any number of things could happen to unsupervised children in the night. He stood up and crossed the street, heading for the playground, intent on taking the kid home.

The small boy didn't seem to notice the man walking toward him. Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets, narrowing his eyes as he approached the boy. The kid seemed familiar somehow, like he should have known him. Long blond hair flew back in the slight breeze as he swung, little legs bowing out and away from each other at the knees, wide grin planted firmly in place.

He reached the park and opened his mouth to talk to the kid when he was spotted. Tiny sneakers hit the dirt hard, stalling the swing as the boy looked over at Sam with fear in his wide, hazel eyes. And Sam figured it out. "Dean?"

The kid jumped from the swing and ran, arms pumping, toward the road, taking a different route back to the motel. If that was even where he was going. For all Sam knew, it was just another kid, one who bore a slight resemblance to his brother. That was what he told himself as he headed back to the room, cutting through the forest. It wasn't Dean. It couldn't be Dean.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean was waiting for him when he got back, sitting on the bed, his hands clasped in front of him, arms resting on his knees, head down, and looking all of his twenty-nine years. He barely even glanced up as Sam walked through the door. "Hey."

"Hey."

The silence was strained. "I suppose you want to know-"

"Was it you?"

Dean looked up at him, as if trying to decide what to say to that, trying to decide whether to lie or tell the truth. He nodded back toward the door, to the chair that sat beside it, the chair that now housed a small sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of dirty white sneakers. "You tell me."

Sam blinked, unable to think of anything else to do. "How?"

The older man just grinned, a dry grin, devoid of all humor and emotion. "I wasn't gonna tell you. Thought you'd hate me." He shook his head. "Guess I'm not gonna have to worry about it in another month, though, so what the Hell? Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"What are you talking about?"

He licked his lips. "I'm not exactly… human." His eyes fell back to the floor as Sam sat down hard on the edge of his own bed.

"What are you talking about? Of course you're human. If you weren't human, dad would have-"

"He tried," Dean said, his voice sounding almost mechanical, as if he were in shock, "he tried to tell me. He told me. Said that things like me were monsters. I mean, he never actually said that he knew, but he did. I got too cocky and he found out. I got too selfish… he said that's what makes us bad. The selfishness."

"You're the least selfish person I know," Sam reasoned, "you sold your soul for me."

Dean shrugged. "I tried to fight it. Nature, you know? I thought that it might just go away if I did. But it didn't. You left, and dad left, but it didn't. I can still do it. I'm still a monster."

"You're not a monster."

"We hunt things like me," he said, finally looking back up at Sam, his eyes shining. "All the time. In St. Louis. In Milwaukee."

Sam swallowed hard. "You saying what I think you're saying?" Dean nodded. "You're a-"

"Yeah." He dropped his eyes again. "Always have been, I guess."

Sam looked around the room, at the pile of small clothes on the chair, at his brother, at everything. "You don't shed."

Dean snorted out something that must have been intended as a laugh. "Yeah. Never got why I didn't. Doesn't matter, though. Doesn't change anything. I'm still a monster."

"You're not a monster," Sam reiterated, sliding off his own bed to sit beside his brother, close enough that their shoulders were touching, knowing from experience that proximity was needed for these little supernatural confessionals.

"Dad said-"

"Dad lied."

"Yeah, I know."

Sam let the statement slide, figuring that he could try to bring it up later. This was a rare burst of honesty, one that had hit him so hard and so fast that his brain was having trouble processing it all. Dean was implying that he was a shape-shifter, that he was a monster, that he was selfish.

"How long?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

Dean shrugged, finally looking back up at him. "I think I was about nine when I figured it out. Dad was still pissed about the shtriga thing, and I was taking it pretty hard. Some kids at school were making fun of me, too. I had this gap in my teeth." He shook his head. "I kept thinking that they'd like me if it was gone, you know? I just kept thinking about that, and then one day I looked in the mirror to brush my teeth and it wasn't there anymore."

Sam grinned. "You fixed your teeth?"

Dean nodded, trying on a smile of his own, one that finally touched his eyes as he realized that Sam and his father were two completely different people. "And my ears. And my hair. Remember those cheap-o haircuts dad always made us get? I pulled a Harry Potter."

"That's it?"

"There might have been more. You think looks this awesome come naturally? It's a slow process, perfecting the human form. Years of asking women what they want and then putting the knowledge to good use."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "You changed yourself for women?"

"Get your mind outta the gutter. Some things don't need changing."

The younger man grinned. "So, what do you really look like?"

"Honestly?" Dean asked, the good-hearted smile finally fading from his face. "I'm not sure anymore. Don't even think I want to know." He looked back down at the floor. "That guy was never really good enough for anyone."

Sam noted the hint of sadness in his brother's voice, the aversion of the eyes, and knew that he'd inadvertently struck a chord. "So," he said, hoping to change the subject, "you ever become someone else?"

Dean's head shot up, his eyes wide, scared. "Are you kidding? That's wrong. Only the worst-"

"_Could_ you?" Sam questioned, hoping for a _better_ subject change.

"Probably. But I wouldn't. It's not exactly a nice thing to do, you know, stealing someone's body."

"I won't tell."

The eyes went down again. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I kinda promised dad-"

"Dad's not here right now." He paused, thinking. "I thought you said you'd never done it before." Dean didn't look at him. "What did you do?"

"It was an experiment," the older man finally whispered, breaking a long silence. "A kid finds out he can change anything about himself, you think he's just gonna go around fixing one thing at a time? He's gonna go for the whole package."

"Who'd you become?"

Sam was starting to get worried that his brother might get whiplash from turning his head so fast, so often. "You. I became you." He paused, let it sink in. "I just wanted to see if I could, at first. But then I looked in the mirror and saw you staring back and thought that I might be able to have some fun. I got selfish."

"What did you do?" Sam asked, unable to think of any time in his past that there had been two of him walking around.

"I tricked dad. I made him think I was you. I used to have nightmares sometimes, and I just wanted him to tell me that they weren't real, but he never did. He just told me not to be scared of them." He sighed. "He told _you_ they weren't real, though."

"What are you talking about?"

"I used to change in the bedroom, take your clothes, find dad, and he made everything better. He told me not to be afraid. He said that he loved me." He swallowed. "And then one night I had a nightmare and I went to him, and I fell asleep. I'd never fallen back to sleep before. I always went back into the room so dad wouldn't know. I woke up the next morning in my bed and I still looked like you. Dad had a talk about shape-shifters with me that day."

"And he told you that you were a monster?"

"Not in so many words. He _implied _it. Said those things started out human but changed. They got selfish and they got mean and they killed people. They eliminated the competition."

Sam shook his head. "That's not you."

"Yeah, because he warned me."

"No, man. It never would have been you. You're not like that."

"There but for the grace of God-"

"You're not evil. Not any more than I am."

That shut him up. He sighed, finally pulling his eyes from Sam, staring across the room at the wall. "Why do you think it freaked me out so much when that thing stole my face? It was me. Freaky evil powers and all."

Sam blinked. "Your eyes don't flare."

"Yeah, never figured that one out."

"You don't shed."

"Nope. Hypoallergenic."

Sammy shook his head. "You're not like those things, then. Maybe you're not even really a shifter."

Dean smirked. "Dude, I just got back from being a five-year-old. I think I'm a shifter."

"Why were you out there, anyway?"

The older man shrugged. "Making up for lost time? When we were kids, you always wanted to go to the parks and play. Dad said we had to stay in the rooms. I'd take you and watch you like a hawk, remember?"

"Yeah. You sat on the benches and watched."

Dean nodded. "And you never got hurt. Dad never found out."

"You never got to have any fun."

"Had fun tonight." He grinned, standing up and stretching. He moved over to the chair and grabbed the little boy clothes, rolling them up and stuffing them in his duffle bag.

Sam watched him, following him with his eyes, one question burning in his mind, escaping from his mouth before he could stop it. "You gonna show me?"

Dean stopped, straightening up and turning to look at his brother with amused eyes. "Maybe tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 2

Wow. Response for this one is better than I thought. I'm so happy you guys seem intrigued. I feel kinda bad that most of the chapters are relatively short, but hopefully that'll be ok in the end. So, enjoy!

* * *

Sam couldn't wait to tell his brother about the dream he'd had. Man, it had been a weird one. Dean would laugh. Even the idea of him being something that they hunted, something they'd been taught to hate, seemed ridiculous.

The shower was running when he woke up, and he didn't pay any attention to it. He slid out of bed and stretched, throwing on a pair of jeans and three shirts. He booted up his laptop, hoping to look for a new hunt, or some lead on getting his brother out of that damned deal. After all, time was getting short.

He was just about to sit down to start another eventful day of research when the bathroom door opened. A cloud of steam accompanied his brother into the room as Sam turned from the computer to tell him all about that dream- because, you know, telling Dean that he had been dreaming about him wouldn't lead to ridicule or anything.

He had opened his mouth to report his strange midnight musings when the steam cleared and his jaw dropped to a position that would make articulation nearly impossible. Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the image standing in the steam never wavered.

He was staring at himself.

His doppelganger stared back at him, droplets of water cascading down a fit body to be absorbed into the rather small motel towel that had been wrapped around his waist. He toweled vigorously at his hair. "Seriously, dude, you need a trim."

Sam gulped, finally managing to close his mouth, and just kept staring. The other him smirked. "What?" his twin said, "thought you wanted a demonstration."

The real Sammy Winchester felt his eyes go wide. "_Dean_?"

The other him nodded, still smirking, and started digging through the duffle bag for clothes. "In your flesh."

"But," Sam said, taking a step toward his brother, "you… _me_…?"

Dean spun around to face him. "Freaky, huh?"

"You even _sound_ like me."

"What would the point be if I didn't?"

Sam blinked. "So, how's it work?"

Dean just stared at him. "What?"

"The… thing?"

"The thing?" Dean asked. "Oh, you mean this?" He gestured toward his body.

"Yeah."

"Not sure. Just think about it and it kinda happens." He shrugged, smiling. "Watch this." He wrapped a hand around the towel that was tied at his waist and closed his eyes. Sam watched as his own features blurred and melted right before his eyes, transforming slowly into his brother's softer nose, harder jaw line, and stouter build. His eyes widened as the man in front of him began to shrink, dropping two inches before filling out a bit, muscle dispelling the lanky frame.

Dean opened his eyes. "Freaky, right?"

Sam just nodded as his brother gathered up his own clothes and headed back into the bathroom to change in privacy. Dean had been wrong. He wasn't a shape-shifter, not with a transformation that fluid. No, he was something else entirely, and Sam was going to find out exactly what that was.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Going for donuts," Dean said as he grabbed the car keys and headed for the door, "you want anything special?"

Sam barely glanced up from the website he was currently pouring over. "Nope. Just glazed."

Dean nodded, opening the door and stepping out of the room. Almost as if rethinking the action of leaving, he stuck his head back in. "Um…"

The younger man turned his full attention to his brother. "Yeah?"

"You're, uh, gonna be here when I get back, right?"

"Where would I go?" Sam asked, "you're taking the car."

Dean flashed a quick smile and disappeared out the door. He glanced back at the room once before getting in the car and backing away from the motel. Sam hadn't seemed freaked out- not as freaked out as their father had been, anyway. He hadn't seemed put off. Hadn't seemed scared. Hadn't seemed about to run, or start shooting silver bullets.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't upset, didn't mean that he didn't see Dean as something unnatural, something that had to be dealt with. It didn't mean that he wouldn't leave, wouldn't spill his brother's long-kept dirty secret. It didn't mean that things wouldn't be different.

Dean sighed, leaning back into the leather seat, staring out at the open road that lay before him. He was scared. Scared of himself and what he was. It had been so long since he'd really thought about it, thought about what he could do. It was true that he'd avoided stealing anyone else's skin since his father had caught him, but it hadn't stopped him from changing completely. Teeth don't typically straighten themselves, after all.

He hadn't even been entirely sure that he could still do it. Part of him hadn't wanted to. It was selfish. He was sure of that. Wanting to be someone else, actually _becoming_ them… but there was always the original, always someone to exterminate. His father had made that clear. Even when he'd been ten years old, Dean had been able to figure it out. If he kept on that path, he'd end up killing his brother. He definitely didn't want to do that. He lived for Sam. He was going to die for Sam.

Still, that morning, slipping back into that skin, it had just felt right. Like something he'd been missing. He had looked into the mirror and scared himself; he was such a perfect imitation. He had looked in the mirror and seen a chance at normal and safe and loved. Just like he had all those years ago.

That, more than anything else, was what scared him. The fact that he wasn't even comfortable in his own skin.

He slowed the car as he saw the little café approaching. Sam would be there when he got back. He might be waiting with a pistol full of silver, but at least he would be there. It was more than Dean could have said about his father.


	4. Chapter 3

Sorry about the long (for me, anyway) wait for an update. I've been really sick. Turns out I have pnuemonia (sp?). I've also had asthma since the fourth grade, so that makes it just a wee bit worse. Anyway, because of that, updates may be a bit sporadic. I've been really wiped out lately, even too tired to start on my next story, which promises to be friggin' awesome.

Anyway, sorry for the delay. Can't fight the fact that my lungs hate me :) Please enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Sam waited until the sound of the Impala's engine had faded before grabbing his cell and dialing Bobby's number. He let it ring, waiting for the older hunter to answer. Finally, he picked up.

"Sam? You all right?"

"Fine, Bobby," he replied, trying not to give away how nervous he was about making the call. He knew he had to be careful about this one. Dean's trust was hard to gain and easy to lose- he'd found that out the hard way. "I just have a question."

"Ask away."

Sam took a deep breath. "Dean and I kinda ran across something weird. I was wondering if you could tell me exactly what it is."

"Well, I can try. Go ahead."

"We thought it was a shape-sifter at first. It can change its form at will. But it doesn't shed in order to change. The transformations are fluid, and its eyes don't flare in the light. It's never hurt anybody for personal gain. It doesn't live underground. It doesn't follow the MO of any shifter we've ever come across, actually, but it can change. What do you think?"

There was silence at the other end of the line, and for a moment Sam thought that he'd lost the connection. Then he heard the sound of papers rustling and a soft cough. Finally, Bobby answered. "It's not a shifter."

Sam let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. "It's not?"

"Nope. Something else."

"Kinda figured that. What?"

"It's psychic."

The younger Winchester nearly dropped the phone. "Excuse me?"

Bobby sighed. "Yeah. It's called biokinesis. One of the rarer abilities, but you can run across it. I've known of about ten people like the one you just described. Seven wound up with silver bullets in their hearts."

"Hunters thought they were shifters?"

"Sure did. Like I said, the thing's rare. Most people who have it don't even know."

"Well, what are we talking about here, exactly?"

The rustling of paper crossed the distance again, and Sam knew that the older man was checking his notes. "The ability to change the body at a molecular level. In theory, someone with the ability could give themselves superpowers, immortality, any number of things. Mostly, though, they just change."

"It's psychic."

"Yeah. Literally mind over matter. I'd say your resident shifter isn't too dangerous, not unless he or she starts dishing out diseases."

"They can do that?"

"Anything involving the body." Bobby said, "I even heard a story of one girl who used it to cure her asthma. It's all in the DNA."

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Bobby. I'll be sure to tell Dean. Have a feeling he's gonna be overjoyed to hear that."

"Happy to help," Bobby said. The line clicked and went dead.

"Nobody says good-bye anymore," Sam mused as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He sighed, sliding down in the chair and stretching his legs out under the desk until his feet hit the wall. Yeah, Dean would be happy to hear that. Sam had been getting the distinct feeling that the older man wasn't all that content with what he was, what he had _thought_ he was. Sure, on most people's lists, "psychic" wasn't much better than "shifter," but for the Winchesters it was a definite step up.

He jumped as his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He struggled to retrieve and looked at the caller ID. "Ruby?"

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Make it fast," Sam said as he slid into the booth, staring over the cracked tabletop at the blonde demon.

"Why the rush?" Ruby asked, shoving a ketchup-drenched French fry into her mouth.

"Don't want Dean to know I'm gone." He glanced around the small diner, at the patrons who had no idea that there was a demon in their midst.

Ruby nodded, swirling another fry through her plate full of ketchup. "Speaking of Dean," she said, flicking her eyes toward him and grinning.

"What?" Sam demanded, leaning across the table.

"Got some new intel yesterday. Seems the thing that holds his soul escaped the fiery pit after all."

"It took you eleven months to find that out?"

She shrugged. "News doesn't always travel fast. Anyway, this demon's gonna be holed up in an old warehouse in rural New York until the end of the month. That's when he'll make his move for Dean."

"Where is he exactly?"

"Why?" she asked, rolling her eyes at him, "you want to run in there and get yourself killed? Because without the Colt, that's exactly how it's gonna go down. You don't know this guy, Sammy. He'll take no prisoners."

"Then give me your knife."

She just smiled. "You didn't really let me finish." He slumped back in his seat and glared at her as she popped another fry into her mouth, chewing slowly, savoring the taste. "I tell you, these things are-"

"Like deep fried crack. Yeah. Now, what were you gonna say?"

Ruby frowned. "Pushy. I like it. Fine, I might have found the Colt's location, too."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's convenient."

"Look, you could listen to me, get the gun, and save your brother; or, you could ignore me, leave the gun where it is, and say good-bye to Dean before your next period. It's your choice."

"Where is it?" he asked, his voice soft, deadly.

"There's my little AC." She smiled at the confused look on his face. "Anti-Christ," she clarified. "The gun's being kept in a safe in an apartment in Queens. The owner's name is Bela Talbot. You break in, take the gun, and then I'll call you with your new Big Bad's location, ok?"

Sam slid out of the booth and stared down at her. "If you're lying, so help me-"

"You should get back, Sammy. Dean's waiting for you."


	5. Chapter 4

I'm back! And I have a pile of homework like you would not believe! So, sorry about the short, pointless chapter. If it makes you feel any better, my boyfriend stopped by yesterday to give me Oreos and saw me in all my sick, hacking-up-a-lung glory :)

* * *

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, figure hunched, face in his hands when Sam got back. He jumped up as he heard the door close, turning wide eyes to his brother. "You came back?"

"I just went to the local diner-"

"Why? I got donuts." He nodded toward the bright pink box that sat on the dresser.

"Ruby called."

"How'd she get your number?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. She had information."

"Pertaining to…?"

"Your deal. And where Bela's keeping the Colt."

"What did she say?"

"The Crossroads Demon's boss got out of the Gate when we opened it. He reared his ugly head recently. He's settled down in an old warehouse or something, just waiting for the end of the month. Bela's keeping the Colt in her apartment in Queens. If we get the gun and track down the demon-"

"No more threat of fire and brimstone," Dean finished. "Yeah, ok. We need a plan."

"And we'll get one. But there's something else I need to tell you."

The older man sat back down, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. If it had been anyone else, perhaps someone who made a habit of showing emotion, Sam would have pegged it as uncertainty or fear. With Dean, though, it was hard to tell. "Yeah?"

"You're not a monster."

"You keep saying that, but you could be lying."

Sam blinked, confused. "What?"

"I mean, dad didn't come right out and say it, but he made it seem like I could be saved…. Like I wasn't beyond help. He still left."

"That wasn't because-"

"You left, and then he left. When it was just him and me together… you kept him around, Sammy. Once you were gone, he split. He couldn't look at me."

"But I'm not dad," the younger man pointed out, "and I did my homework." He leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I called Bobby, told him we found a shifter that didn't shed and didn't flare. Wanna know what he told me?"

"Not really. But that's never stopped you before."

Sam grinned. "You're not a shape-shifter, Dean."

"Then what am I?"

"You're psychic." He closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion- of laughter or anger, he wasn't sure. The silence that permeated the room was the farthest thing from what he'd expected, though. He cracked his eyes back open. "Dean?"

"You know you're crazy, right?" Dean scoffed. "You're the psychic."

"Bobby said it's rare. Biokinesis. It's a willful change at the molecular level, adjustments to DNA. It explains why you don't shed, why you can look like anyone. It explains how you can change little things, one at a time."

"I'm not psychic."

"Then what are you?"

Dean sighed, letting his eyes slide shut, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "We've had this discussion."

"Humor me, at least," Sam said, his shoulders slumping with the rejection. "This is easier to explain. Maybe it's hereditary-"

"Dad wasn't psychic."

"Azazel didn't kill dad." Dean glanced up at him. "Well, I mean, he _did_, yeah, but… you know what I mean."

"You really gonna drag mom into this?"

"If it'll help you see the truth, then, yeah. Dammit, Dean, did dad really brainwash you that bad? Do you really think that you're some kind of monster? Because there are worse things that you could be doing than turning into a kid at night to sneak off to the playground."

"That's because dad stopped it."

Sam sighed, sliding from his place at the wall to cross the room. "Right, because admitting that you had nightmares was _so_ evil."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know what he said. And he was right. These things all do it. The one in Missouri killed innocent people when they wouldn't love him. The one in Wisconsin killed the people it impersonated."

Sam stopped and turned toward his brother, realization dawning in his green eyes. "What?"

"That's what he told me we do, Sammy," Dean said softly, hanging his head. "We eliminate the competition. He practically told me that if I kept on doing it, I would end up killing you. There can't be two Sam Winchesters, and I was the monster."

Sam sat down beside him. "You wouldn't do that to me. Dad was wrong. He didn't have all the facts. Even Bobby said that hunters have killed these psychics thinking they were shifters. He was wrong. You're not a monster. You never were. You're like me."

Slowly, Dean turned back toward Sam. "Great," he muttered. "Now I'm a freaky psychic geek. I love heredity."

The younger man grinned, happy to hear sarcasm, to hear humor, to hear that the moment of weakness and fear had passed and his brother had finally decided to believe him. "According to Bobby, you can change that."


	6. Chapter 5

Aw. Thanks for all the well-wishes, guys! I am feeling a little better today, so I thought I'd treat you all to a long chapter that's sure to make you smile. I know it made my day. Thanks again!

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"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Dean muttered as he peeked out from between the bushes to gaze at the sidewalk.

"And I can't believe you can pull a Texas accent so well," Sam said.

Dean glared at him. "This is wrong."

"You have a better plan?"

"No." He turned back to the sidewalk, waiting for the click of high heels, for the approach of the familiar figure, the scent of expensive perfume. "But if I had time-"

"Has she come out yet?"

Dean shook his head. "Maybe she recognized my voice."

"Don't think so," Sammy grinned, "after all, it was a couple of octaves higher than usual."

"You know," Dean said, turning back to his brother, "I don't exploit you like this."

"That's because death visions that I no longer have can't help us get the Colt back."

"Details, details."

Sam sighed. "Just keep your eyes on the sidewalk, ok?" He knelt down beside his brother, shoving stray branches and twigs out of the way as he peered out toward the street. Busy people passed by, completely unaware that their world had been infested by demons and they were all in terrible danger. Some folks were just stupid like that.

Sam shifted as his joints began to protest the position he'd set them in. He was starting to think that Dean was right. Maybe Bela had realized that the phone call she'd received earlier that day about a lucrative score in a private museum was a fake.

Then he heard it. The familiar clacking of high-heeled boots on the pavement. Both brothers leaned a little farther toward the street to watch as Bela passed them by. They sat back in the bush and gazed at each other. Now or never.

"I still hate you," Dean muttered as he reached around his back and pulled up the bag of clothing they'd bought earlier that day. "And the guy at that store probably thought we were a couple of queers."

"That's the price you pay for life," Sam shrugged, gazing at the older man expectantly. "Any day now, Dean."

His brother glared at him for a moment before letting his eyes slide shut. Sam watched with rapt fascination as Dean's features again shifted and changed, his nose flattening a bit, face softening, rounding, hair spilling down over his shoulders as it darkened and curled. His clothes hung loose against a newly slimmed frame as his skin tanned. He opened his eyes and continued glaring.

"I hope you're happy," Dean said with a familiar, feminine voice.

"Dude, accent."

"As soon as we're done with this," the older man hissed, obeying his brother and adopting he accent that had slowly come to grate on both boys' nerves since their first meeting with Bela Talbot, "I'm gonna kick your ass."

Sam snorted. "Dude, you just said 'arse.'"

Dean continued to glare. "Turn around while I change, will you?" he snapped as he stripped his jacket off and began pulling the clothes they'd bought out of the bag.

Sam obeyed, spinning on the balls of his feet to look back at the street. "So, you get the key from the doorman, get into the room, disarm the alarm, and then beat it out of there?"

"Well, you're gonna help me."

"How are we gonna get me in?"

Dean tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that it was safe to look again. "Oh," he smirked, "I've got a way." He shoved his real clothes into the bag and glanced out onto the street. "Come on."

As casually as possible, the boys snuck out of the bushes that bordered the apartment building. As soon as they were clear of the shrubbery, Dean grabbed his brother's hand and began pulling him toward the front door.

They burst through the revolving glass doors and into what looked like the lobby of a hotel that they could never afford to stay in. The clerk behind the desk turned shocked eyes toward them, but softened as he recognized Dean.

"Ms. Talbot," he said through a thick Boston accent, "what're you doin' back so soon?"

Dean laughed, letting go of Sam's hand and leaning up against the desk, straightening his arms to accentuate his new figure. "Funny story, uh," he glanced at the man's nametag, "_Louie_. I ran into my friend," he nodded back toward Sam, who grinned like an idiot in love, "outside and we just _have_ to catch up. Unfortunately, it seems that I locked my keys in my room. You wouldn't happen to have a spare so that I can get in and grab them, do you?"

Louie flashed a smile to match Sam's, spun around, and grabbed a key off a hook behind the desk. "There you go, Ms. Talbot," he said. "Have fun."

"Oh," Dean smirked, taking the key and winking, "we will." He grabbed his brother's hand again and pulled the younger man toward the elevators. Sam spared one last glance at Louie and flashed him a quick thumbs-up before getting yanked into the elevator.

Dean dropped his hand faster than a kid playing hot potato and glared up at him. "We never mention this again, agreed?"

"_You_ can never mention it," Sam said, "_I'll _bring it up at every party we ever attend from now until the end of time." He glanced around the elevator, watching the digital numbers tick by as the cart rose. "So, you remember how to get there?"

Dean nodded. "_And_ disable the alarm. I think I remember seeing a safe, too."

The elevator stopped its slow climb, the doors sliding open as a single note chimed their arrival. Together, they stepped from the elevator and walked down a white-washed hallway, Dean leading the way. A door loomed ahead of them and they slowed, glancing around the hall and finding themselves alone. Dean slide the key into the lock and turned it. The tumblers fell back and the door slid silently open with a nudge.

Dean immediately set to work on the alarm, finding it just as easy to disarm as it had been the last time. The door clicked shut behind them and the apartment, enemy territory, lay before them.

"Let's get started," Sam muttered, rubbing his hands together as he stepped into the spacious loft.

Dean pushed past him and headed for the kitchen nook, unwilling to dawdle on the off-chance that Bela would discover their deception early. He strode confidently up to the safe that sat low in the wall, stumbling over his heels only once.

Sam walked up behind him, glancing back at the door as Dean began working on the lock. "You think it was weird that Louie didn't notice that Bela walked out of the apartment wearing one outfit and walked back in wearing another one?"

"Does it really matter? We got in, didn't we?"

The younger man shrugged. "I dunno. I just would have noticed."

"That's because you spend most of your free time looking at women's clothing instead of the wonderful things that are hidden underneath."

"You're changing back before you get a change to strip in front of a mirror."

Dean turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't planning on it, but now that you mention-"

"Just pick the damn lock."

"You brought it up," he shrugged, turning back to the safe. After a bit more persuasion, the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing the Colt and a few other random artifacts. "Score."

"How do we know it's the real thing?"

Dean inspected the gun, turning it over in slender hands, letting long fingers run over it. "It's the Colt. I know this gun." He stood up and kicked the safe door shut. "Let's go." He handed the weapon to Sam, who stored it inside his jacket.

They walked from the apartment, locking it back up, and strolled calmly down the hall, keeping up the illusion of belonging until they got onto the elevator. The doors slid shut.

"That was fast," Dean muttered as the elevator shuddered and began its downward journey. "Too fast." He looked up at Sam and grinned, tossing his head forward and running his hands through his hair. His flipped his head back up and shook it, turning what had once been sophisticated ringlets into wild tousles.

"What the Hell are you doing?"

"Just go with me on this one, Sammy," he advised, untucking his shirt and sliding one thin shirt sleeve down his arm. He unbuttoned the small black jeans before turning up to Sam and smiling. "Your turn."

Before Sam could protest, Dean had yanked his jacked nearly halfway off his lanky frame and hastily unbuttoned his shirt. "Dude-"

"Unzip."

"_What_?"

"I am _not_ touching that. Unzip your pants."

"No. Why?"

Dean sighed, crossing his arms over his now-ample bosom. "Because, idiot, we came in under the pretense of a quick romp. It's gonna look weird if we both leave looking exactly the same as when we came in. Now unzip your pants."

"This wasn't part of the plan," Sam grumbled as he did what his brother said. After all, the older man had a point.

"Well, then, maybe we should have waited until I came up with something."

"You really think you could have done better?"

"Better than starting the morning with 'hey, Dean, I know how to get the Colt back, but it involves cross-dressing and a _sex change_!'"

Sam cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it look even more unruly than it had been before. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"Exploitation," Dean nodded as the doors opened. He placed his small hand into Sam's and pulled, leading him out of the elevator and into the lobby. Watching his brother storm out of the apartment building, the situation finally hit him full force. Their lives were weird, weirder than they had any right to be. He had psychic visions, his brother could change form at will, and they were marching off together with a gun that could kill anything to kill an unknown demon before it could kill Dean.

If he recounted his tale to anyone, he would be locked away. He would be deemed crazy, be put on some powerful medication, locked up for life, all chances of normal out the window.

But the worst part was that it didn't seem weird to him. Just another problem in an endless sea, another mission, another hunt, another asset against the constant onslaught of supernatural threats. No, nothing weird about that.

"Dude. Sammy. Hey, you with me, bud?"

Sam jumped and looked around. They were back in the bushes, crouching out of sight. "What?"

"Spaced out on me there. You ok?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking. You realize that all of this is hitting me at once, and I'm not even blinking?

Dean shrugged. "Welcome to my life."

Sam felt his face get hot as he thought about the statement. He'd completely forgotten that just a few years earlier, Dean had been in the exact same position. _Hey, your dad is missing, your brother has death visions, and a demon wants him to take over the world. That's cool, right?_

"Sorry, I didn't think-"

"I'm not asking you to think," Den grinned, dropping the accent, "just to turn around."

Smiling at the forgiveness masked by snark, Sam obeyed.


	7. Chapter 6

Ok. I'm here. I'm dead tired, but here. Yay!! Hope y'all are ready for an action-packed chapter that involves a promising new discovery :)

Thanks again for reading and reviewing!

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"My feet hurt."

Sam glanced down at his brother and cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not rubbing your feet, Dean."

The older man shook his head. "How chicks walk in those things, I'll never know."

Sammy sighed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and running his fingers over the smooth metal of the gun that he'd thought they'd never see again. With the Colt back in his grasp, he found himself walking with anew confidence, a new swagger. Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could actually save his brother. At least now they had a plan. Or, at least, a semblance of one.

They would find out where the demon that held Dean's soul was, they would run in with their gun blazing, and the damned thing wouldn't stand a chance. In theory, it would work. In life, it would probably result in more deaths than just the demon's. If not Dean's, then definitely Sam's. There was a price to pay any way he looked at it, and it wasn't pleasant.

He ran into Dean as the older man stopped. His brother turned to glare at him. "What is it with you today?"

Sam shook his head. "Dunno. Just thinking. Why'd we stop?" He followed Dean's gaze up to the second-floor windows of an old brick apartment building. Smoke belched from the tiny openings as flames flickered inside.

The brothers looked at each other, clearly worried about the occurrence of such a familiar disaster so close to their recent victory. They were both pulled out of their speculation, however, by the harried screams of a young woman. They spun to see a stout blonde straining against the beefy arms of two firemen, one neatly manicured hand reaching toward the burning building.

"Please," she shouted, "my baby. My baby boy! He's still _in there_."

Without waiting for a reaction from his brother, Dean took off into the apartment.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Fire licked at his feet as he ran, threatening to engulf him, to send him to Hell before Sammy got a chance to use their newly recovered weapon on the faceless demon that had haunted their dreams for nearly a year. He could hear screams from outside the inferno, shouts of panic, of pain.

And then he heard something closer, barely audible over the rushing of smoke and fire in his ears, a small cry. He ducked into a room, dodging fallen support beams and a wall of smoke. The sound got louder.

He stumbled farther into the room, staggering down a hallway, coughing as his lungs filled with deadly smoke. _Stupid hero complex,_ he thought, squinting through the haze to see a closed door at the end of the hall. He could make out words now, a small voice calling for help amidst the flames.

He didn't bother to try the doorknob, just reared back and kicked down the door, sending a sharp spray of splinters into the room. A choked sob reached his ears as he beheld the scene before him. Fire climbed the walls of what was obviously a child's room, embers dancing and twirling in the fog of smoke, falling onto a small, coughing bundle huddled in the corner.

Dean picked his way across the room as quickly as possible and scooped the boy up in his arms. The kid screamed, and one look at him explained the noise easily. His skin was burnt, charring and blackening with the heat, the fire, the unrelenting spray of embers that had rained down on him.

He loosened his grip on the kid as much as he could and headed back for the door. The smoke was thicker than it had been before, stinging at his eyes and choking life-giving oxygen from his lungs. Flames shot up in front of him and for one terrified moment he believed his earlier suspicions- somehow his demon had found out about his intended jail break, somehow they'd been betrayed, somehow he would never be able to outrun that deal.

Then a spark of pure blue light caught his eye and Dean spun in the main hallway to find a back door out of the building. Without thinking, he ran toward it, feet pounding at weakening boards, child squirming and screaming in his arms. He burst into the fresh air and sunlight, gasping for breath as his lungs burned in his chest.

Choking on the clean air, Dean hung his head, trying to catch his breath as sirens rang and people screamed. The boy in his arms was still shrieking with pain, writhing in his grip, soft tears streaming down a ruined face. He would be a freak if he survived, his puckered skin an outward sign of his near-death, his survival. No one would ever look at him the same again, would ever treat him the same. Dean could relate.

Curling his fingers around the boy's blackened skin, eliciting a cry of purest pain, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Maybe Sam had something with the whole psychic thing, maybe biological makeup could be changed with a touch, with a thought. Maybe he could reach past himself and touch another, more deserving, more innocent life.

He felt the boy calm in his grasp as he focused on what he intended to do. Despite what Sam might have thought, Dean _had_ paid attention in high school biology, at least enough that he had an idea of what he was doing. After all, if Sam and Bobby were right about him, there had to be a reason that he could change his age. All he had to do was find it and apply it.

He cracked his eyes back open and looked down at the boy, at perfectly tan skin, wide eyes, not a flaw on him. The boy looked back, his mouth hanging open in shock. Dean just smirked and shushed the kid, raising his eyebrows to get the point across. The boy nodded. Not a word would be spoken.

He lowed the boy to the ground, and, taking his hand, led him around the side of the building to the waiting crowd. The boy's mother burst from the group and ran at them, her arms held out wide, face soaked with tears.

"Oh, my baby," she wailed, scooping her son up into her arms. She turned grateful eyes to Dean. "Thank you so much."

The hunter shrugged. "No problem, ma'am." He flashed her a smile that shone white through the grime that coated his face, turning to find his brother in the crowd. Sam looked worn, worried, scared, and Dean couldn't blame him. He started to leave, his brother falling into step behind him, waiting until they were well out of earshot of the crowd gathered around the burning building to yell at him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded.

"I was thinking I could save that kid."

"No, you weren't thinking. You were running into a burning building."

"But I saved him," Dean said, a serene smile sneaking onto to his face as the full realization of what he'd just accomplished hit him. "There wasn't a scratch on him."

"Yeah," Sammy said, "what was up with that? I asked one of the firemen at the scene. He said the fire supposedly started in the kid's room and spread. How could that kid not be burnt, Dean?"

The older man shrugged, looking down at his feet. "I thought about what you said."

"What?"

"About the psychic thing. I think you were right. You and Bobby."

Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"You should have seen that kid when I got to him. He was all burnt up. Screaming bloody murder. His face… his arms… they were black and dead and he would have been in so much pain. People would have stared. They would have pointed. He would have been a laughing stock."

"Dean-"

"So I fixed him."

Sam stopped walking and turned to his brother. "What? How?"

"After you told me what Bobby said, I got to thinking. If he was right, then how could I make myself younger? And then I thought about it- actually _thought_ about it- and I remembered taking biology in high school. Do you know why people age?"

"Their cells die."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. The way I figure it, I was bringing those cells back to life without even realizing that I was doing it. They were multiplying and regenerating and that's how it worked."

"How did that help the kid?"

"I told the dead cells to come back to life."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "You did… _what_?"

"I put my hands on the kid and concentrated on fixing him and it worked." He grinned, suddenly proud of himself, happy to have done something good with something that he'd once viewed as evil. "I saved him years of rejection. I _healed_ him."

"So, you're saying that you can do this to other people now?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe I always could. Never thought to try before."

Sam started walking again, heading toward the back alley where they'd left the car. "You know, you might finally be good for something after all."


	8. Chapter 7

Sorry again about the delays in posting these chapters. Just haven't gotten over the pneumonia yet. Please accept this chapter as an apology for the slight delay :)

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They still hadn't gotten the call. They'd gotten the Colt back, had waited for most of the night, and Ruby hadn't made any attempt to contact them. It was the first thing to rush through Sam's mind as he woke, his need for that call, for confirmation that he'd done good, that he could do more good, that Dean wouldn't have to die.

He rolled over to reach for his phone, to see if she had called, and stopped as long brown tresses fell across his field of vision. He knew he needed a haircut, but not that badly.

Then he heard the laughter. He tossed his head back, clearing his eyes, and stared at Dean, who was sitting in a rickety wooden chair, watching Sam with a mirthful expression on his face.

"What the Hell is so funny?" Sam felt his eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He reached a small hand up to his throat, surprisingly smooth and flat. "Dean," he hissed, glaring at his brother through his bangs, "what did you do to me?"

Dean just grinned. "Come on, sweetheart. You didn't really think I was gonna let yesterday slide, didja?"

He stumbled from the bed, t-shirt hanging loosely over a recently-slimmed body, sweatpants threatening to fall from slender hips. "Change me back," he barked in that annoying high voice.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

"Dean, I swear, I will kill you myself-"

"Careful, now, Samantha. Wouldn't want to break a nail."

Sam lunged at his brother, tiny hands outstretched, fingers curved into perfectly manicured claws, intent on gouging the older man's eyes right out of their sockets. Dean hopped from his chair and deftly grabbed the younger man's shoulders, holding him out at arm's length. "Calm down. Can't a guy have a little fun?"

Sam glared up at him, suddenly at a loss for words. _Up_. That was different, gave him a sense of déjà vu, took him back to a time when Dean could solve anything, when they both foolishly believed that their father was invincible, when good always triumphed over evil. "Dean-"

The older man squinted down at his brother. "You ok?"

"You're tall."

Dean grinned. "Naw, you're just short." He led his shocked sibling to the mirror and turned him to face it, his hands never leaving Sam's shoulders as he stood behind him. "Cool, huh?"

Sammy gazed at his reflection, his blood running cold in his veins. Dark hair spilled over his slender shoulders as almond-eyes widened at the shock of seeing a woman where a man should have stood. And damn, he barely went up to his brother's shoulders. "You proved your point. It's creepy. Now fix it."

"You know what this means?"

"Dean, just fix it."

"We don't have to run anymore."

"Dean-" He stopped, blinking, craning his head back to gaze at the older man. "What?"

"Think about it," Dean said, eyes sparkling. "We can hide in plain sight. We won't have to worry about demons or cops finding us again."

"The cops think we're dead."

"Until they catch us again. Who do you think they're gonna blame that precinct blowing sky high on?"

Sam shook his head, looking back into the mirror, eyes roving over his new figure, heart beating out a panicked rhythm behind narrow ribs. "What are you talking about?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, man. I guess, maybe, a fresh start?" He looked down at his brother and smiled. "No more running. No more demons, if that's what you want. We could be safe. No one would have to know."

He licked his lips, surprisingly smooth and full. It was what he'd always wanted, what he'd striven for his entire life: the chance to be normal, to start over, to not have to look over his shoulder all the time.

He watched his brother in the mirror, saw the glint in his eyes, and knew. It wasn't about what he'd always wanted. Not this time. This time, it was about Dean, about atonement, making up for living life as a freak, for keeping such a big secret, for driving their father off. It was about appeasing the one person he had left. It was about keeping his family.

"Just change me back," Sam choked. "We need to find this demon."

Dean deflated, spinning his brother around to face him. "If it makes you feel better, you're a very pretty girl."

"_Now_."

"Fine," Dean muttered, tightening his grip on Sam's shoulders and shutting his eyes. "PMS much?"

Sam scowled, shaking his head to clear the hair from his eyes. For a brief moment, he was scared. Nothing was happening. Then he felt it, warmth flowing from his brother's hands, flowing into him, filling his veins, sinking deeper and deeper, running through his DNA, his very being.

It was subtle at first, a slight shift of the features, barely even noticeable. A tingle, really, worming its way across his face. And then the real transformation started. He could feel it all, bones shifting, thickening, stretching, muscles expanding, bulging under tanning skin, hair receding slowly back into his scalp. His face melted like wax, running all together, rearranging, lips thinning, eyelashes shortening, eyes shifting, narrowing, sliding apart.

He tried to pull away, to stop himself from falling apart, to keep himself together, but Dean held him strong, shushed him. "It's ok," he muttered, eyes still shut tight in concentration, "almost over."

Sam relaxed as much as he could while his insides shifted, slamming his eyes shut with enough force to make himself dizzy. He could feel his hands widening, spreading, stretching, skin pulled taut across growing bone.

Dean pulled his hands away and stood silently, waiting for Sam to get his bearings. The younger man slowly opened his eyes, shocked at the look on his brother's face. "Jeez, Sammy, if I'd known… I never would have…"

"Is it always like that?" he asked, thankful to hear that his voice was back to normal.

Dean shrugged. "Pretty much. Yeah."

Sammy shuddered. "That was, uh…"

"Trippy?"

"_Different_."

"Yeah, well, the price you pay for being special." Dean turned back to the table he'd been sitting at, dug through a bag, rooting out their breakfast. "Hungry?"

"Not after that," Sam muttered, glancing over at the phone. "She hasn't called?"

"Not yet. But that doesn't mean she won't."

The younger man sighed, trying to decide whether he wanted to take a shower or not, if he should risk missing the call that could save his brother. He crossed to the table and grabbed a cup of coffee. "What if she doesn't, though?"

"We'll find it ourselves, then," Dean said through a mouthful of McBreakfast. "Can't be that hard."

Sam looked up at his brother with doubtful eyes. "You don't really believe that."

"Why? Just because you searched for almost a year and couldn't come up with anything? If the guy's just now reared his fugly head, maybe we can find him ourselves. Who needs the black-eyed bitch?"

Sam shook his head. He hated arguing with Dean about this, hated the way it made him feel, so small, so insignificant, so useless. He gazed down at his sweatpants, pooled at his feet, sagging on his lanky frame. "Maybe you're right-"

"'Course I'm right," Dean said, smiling down at him with an air of superiority. "I'm older."

The younger man sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever, man." He looked back up at his brother, anger flashing in his eyes as he realized what he was doing. "Dean, why am I still short?"

"You're not short. I'm just freakishly tall."

"This isn't funny, Dean."

"Yeah, it stopped being funny when you turned twelve and hit that stupid growth spurt. Payback's a bitch, huh?"

"I'm not kidding, man."

Dean shook his head. "You are persistent to a fault, you know that?" He grinned. "All right, you win. I'll fix it. But you thought it felt weird before, just wait until things start stretching."

Sam opened his mouth to reply as the phone on the bedside table began to vibrate, skidding out a path across the scuffed wood. He dove across the bed, reaching out to catch it before it spilled to the floor. He didn't even bother to check the id, just hit the 'talk' button and rammed it to his ear. "Where is it?"


	9. Chapter 8

Wow. Thanks for all the awesome reviews, guys. Now, hold on tight, becuase this is where it really starts to get interesting...

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The two men stood outside the door, waiting for it to be wrenched open, waiting to take back their destinies. They both wore black shirts, baggy jeans, solemn expressions. The taller one, the captive, had donned a jacket before setting out for what could be his final mission. His captor stared silently ahead, shaggy blond hair blowing in the breeze.

He looked over at the man that stood at his side, the one caught in his death-grip. This was it. This was the end. For one of them.

The door slid open, squealing on its hinges, stirring up dust as crows cawed overhead, circling the warehouse, as if they knew what lay within. A man stuck his head out into the sunlight, face a mesh of piercing, ink, and mascara. "Yes?"

"Got a present for the boss," Dean said, shaking Sam roughly, presenting him to the doorman as he tried out his smirk on unfamiliar lips, lips that seemed too thin to be his own.

The guard looked Sam over, appraising him. "Winchester?"

Dean nodded, yellow bangs flopping into his eyes. "In the flesh."

"You suicidal, newbie? You bring him in here, we'll all be killed."

"Not if his brother comes."

The doorman glared at him. "If his brother comes, we're really screwed."

The smirk was back, feeling more comfortable now, more at home, growing accustomed to the new features, the rounder chin and jutting nose. "Not if we play our cards right."

The man shifted, stepping out into the sun, showing off a frame lankier than even Sam's, all skin and bone. "I'm listening."

"The brother's a got a deal worked out, right? His soul for little Sammy's life. He kills the boss, and Sammy here dies. He lets the boss live, and he kicks it in a month. Either way, we win. He ain't getting his brother back."

The demon guarding the doorway grinned. "I like the way you think, man." He stepped aside, his eyes flashing black as he allowed them entrance. Dean nodded, his own eyes flooding with darkness as he led his brother into the grimy metal shack. "He's in the back," the demon called after them, "knock first."

Dean sent him back a wave, turning black eyes to Sam and smiling. "That was easier than I thought," he muttered as his eyes returned to blue.

"How the Hell did you do that?"

"Honestly?" Dean shrugged, "no idea. But I'm glad it worked."

Sam sighed, letting himself get pulled through the dusty warehouse. "At least we got in."

"Yeah. So, run the stuff on this thing by me again."

"Name's Foras, at least according to Ruby. Said to be able to grant long life and recover what's been lost. Definitely sounds like our guy."

"Any chance he'll know what we're up to?"

"Me being here is probably gonna be enough to tip him off, but from what Ruby said, the thing can't read minds, not like the others we've met. Maybe he's still reeling from the hellfire."

"As long as it's an advantage, I don't really care about the whys and hows," Dean admitted, turning a corner and coming to a single door. The smell of sulfur radiated heavily from behind it, filling the entire back section of the warehouse with an acrid aroma. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Dean reached out with a long-fingered hand and knocked.

The grip on Sam's arm tightened instinctively as tumblers could be heard falling back and the door opened slowly. In the doorway stood a tall man, his face chiseled, light hair spiked to perfection, eyes a dancing mixture of red and orange. "Yes?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth, eyebrows shooting up as he caught sight of Sam.

Dean grinned. "Happy Birthday."

"A Winchester," Foras said, "I'm surprised." He looked out into the warehouse, shimmering eyes scouring the shadows for unwanted guests. "Come in."

He led the brothers through the door and into what might once have been an office space, but had been recently converted into a meeting hall. Light had been blocked from the windows by thick boards, and a carpet of dust covered the floor. A series of rickety chairs sat around a circular table in the middle of the large room.

"So," the demon said, spinning to meet their eyes. "Sammy. Didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon. Why the rush?"

"You let my brother go," the younger man spat, "or I swear-"

"Sammy," Foras cooed, reached out and swiping a hand down the side of the captive's face, "come on. I thought my associate went over this with you. It's better this way. Really. Dean ends up where he belongs, and you finally get to be normal. No one will be left to keep pulling you back into this chaotic mess we call life."

"He doesn't deserve-"

"Maybe not from your perspective, kid," Dean muttered, yanking on Sam's arm, pulling him away from the demon's cold hands, "but from ours, he's gettin' what's been coming."

Sam turned and scowled at the unfamiliar face. "I want to know why he's so important."

Foras stepped forward, staring him straight in the eye. "He's not. I just like to watch him squirm. We all do. And once he shows up to save you, once he busts in here, guns blazing, trying to kill me because he doesn't know the instrument of his fate from another black-eyed skank, you're gonna die. And he's gonna squirm. And we're gonna start all over again."

"Dean's smarter than that."

The demon stepped back, a sly smile working its way onto his face. "You'd think so, wouldn't you. But you two idiots aren't as hot as you think. After all, you walked right into my trap."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Trap?"

"Trap," Foras whispered, looking past them to the door as it slid open. "Tell 'em, babe."

Sam and Dean turned to follow his fiery gaze, their eyes both widening as a petite blonde slunk into the room, her face holding the brightest smile they'd ever seen, her eyes pitilessly black. "Hey there, Sam," Ruby cooed. "Dean."

Sam didn't wait to see what happened next. He twisted in his brother's grasp, grabbing the older man's hand and racing past Foras, through a back door, hopefully to freedom. The last thing he heard before the door slammed shut was that damned deal-making demon, ordering Ruby to remove the spell.

A light bulb went on in his head.


	10. Chapter 9

Ok. Here goes nothing. The big fight-type thing because I can't actually write fight scenes. That's ok, though, because my boyfriend promised to teach me. Maybe. I'm not a very good pupil.

In other news, this is final actal chapter-chapter. Epilogue should be up within a couple of days, and then we can all go on with our lives :) Also, bonus points to whoever can figure out what Sam cooked up before the big reveal at the end. Ready? Let's go!

* * *

Dean burst through the door, once again looking like himself, his brother stumbling along behind him as they exited the back hallway and found themselves back in the wide expanses of the warehouse. "Son of a bitch," Sam muttered. They were trapped. Groups of demons guarded the only exit, the wide doorway that was their only hope of escape.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket, not wanting the loose fabric to impede his ability to save himself and his brother, letting it fall to the floor. "Looks like we fight."

"Are you crazy, we're outnumbered. Besides, what if-"

"It's a good plan. They'll never know."

Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. Give me the gun." Dean produced the Colt and held it out to his brother. Sam had just started to reach for it when the weapon flew from the older man's grasp and crossed the gaping room, clattering to a stop by one corrugated metal wall.

Foras stepped from the hallway that the brothers had burst from, Ruby at his side. "Thought you pulled a fast one, didn't you?" he asked, eyeing the brothers as his mouth turned up in a smirk, "but you underestimate me. I mean, honestly, what kind of self-respecting demon would bring a Winchester in here? Especially when I'm so close to taking one myself. It's suicide. I'm not exactly sure how you got past my guard with that weak-ass little spell hiding who you are," he said, turning to Dean, his eyes sparking maliciously in the dim light, "but you did. And now we can finish this early."

Sam stepped forward, blocking the demon's path to his brother, his shoulders squaring, jaw clenched, ready for a fight. "You wanna get to him? You're gonna have to go through me first."

The demon's smile widened as he stepped to the side of the open door. "I do love a challenge." With a wave of his hand, he sent Sam flying back into the hallway. He glanced back over his shoulder once, nodded at Ruby, and followed Sam, slamming the door behind him.

He stalked down the hall, eyes glinting as he noticed that the door to his office had been thrown open. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called as he stepped into the room. Sam stood by the other door, trying feebly to open it. "Sammy."

The hunter spun, his eyes going hard at the use of the nickname. "It's Sam."

"Of course it is." Foras closed the door to the hall and walked to the table, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, leaning back as he propped his feet up. "So, what brings you here?"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam didn't leave his place by the door, just glared at the demon with all the hatred he could muster.

"Oh, right, I forgot. _Ruby_. You mean to tell me that a demon offers to help you save your brother and you don't smell anything? Nothing fishy about that, a demon helping a hunter. After all, she gave you a gun, offered her special skills in all things magical, and conveniently tipped you off as to my location with time running out. Tick tock, Sam." He grinned.

"She was working for you the whole time?"

Foras nodded. "The whole time, buddy boy. And they say you're the smart one."

The hunter finally peeled himself from the locked door and walked to the table, letting his hands rest on the back of a chair, long fingers curling around rotting wood. "Well, congratulations. You caught us. Now what?"

"Now," the demon relied, setting the chair firmly back on the floor and sending the table ramming into Sam's stomach with a wave of his hand, "we see if you can save your brother."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean flew the length of the room, arms spinning, trying to regain his balance and land with his feet on the ground. He failed. He hit the dusty concrete hard, sliding on his stomach toward the spot where the Colt lay. He reached out, desperate to feel its saving grace in his hand.

A high-heeled boot stamped down firmly on his fingers, causing him to cry out in pain as a manicured hand fisted in his short hair, yanking him to his knees. "I don't know how you pulled that little stunt," Ruby whispered, "but you're sure as hell not getting another chance at it."

"What stunt?"

"The spell, short bus," she hissed, tossing him back toward the middle of the warehouse amidst the chuckles of the demons standing guard, demons that had, apparently, been instructed not to interfere. "The one that made you look like that."

Dean glared at her. "Oh, that one. Pretty tricky, huh?"

"Not tricky enough," she replied, boots clicking across the floor as she approached him. "You're lucky my boss is so lenient. You even being here right now could be seen as trying to break that little contract of yours. You know what that means, right?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

"Good. Of course, that doesn't mean that Foras won't still finish him off, just for the fun of it. After he takes you, of course. Killing Sam would basically mean freedom for you, and that's bad."

He gained his feet, his eyes never leaving hers, a staring contest that could spell death for the loser. "So now what, bitch?"

Ruby smirked. "Now, we wait." She ran at him.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam's lungs burned for oxygen as he struggled to move the table from its place. In his mind he could see a similar scene, pinned against the side of the car by a desk, the woman in white screaming in agony as her dead children clutched at her flowing dress.

And then it was gone. The memory and the horrible pressure vanished. He tried to move from his spot on the wall, to fall, to catch his breath, but he was pinned. Foras stepped up to him, nose-to-nose, and smiled. "Nice, huh? This is how it ends. Your life flashing before your eyes." He turned his head quickly, sending Sam flying into the opposite wall, falling to the floor.

The hunter looked back up at him, but could only see his father, sitting and staring at him with hard eyes, watering eyes, eyes so full of pain that it hurt him to look at the man because he'd put it there. He'd just wanted to be like everyone else. He'd wanted to have fun. No one should have gotten hurt.

Then dark-clad legs swam into his field of vision and the memory was gone. Foras crouched down. "Wow," he whispered, "so much pain in that freakishly large head of yours. Wish I could see. But," he shrugged, "that's what the pit does to you. It tears you down. You kinda gotta build yourself back up. I'm working on it."

The demon nodded again, this time off toward a different wall, but Sam had learned. He reached out with a weakening hand and grabbed the creature by the throat, just hard enough to take him along for the ride.

Their bodies tangled together as they flew back across the room, the demon clawing at his hand as the concrete rushed up at them. Sam looked into his eyes, into a swimming mix of orange and red and yellow, and shuddered. Yellow eyes still haunted him, haunted his dreams. Everything that thing had said to him, every seed of evil and doubt it had planted-

They hit the ground hard, disengaging the awkward embrace as they rolled apart. Foras was up immediately, glaring at the hunter with a look of pity. "It's been fun," he muttered as Sam flew back against the wall, his body slamming into it with enough force to chip the paint and dent the metal, "but sooner or later you have to realize that Dean is mine." The demon grinned.

o0o0o0o0o0o

He was ready for her. He'd always been ready for her. He'd always suspected, had never really trusted. He put on a smile, went through the motions, but had to admit that old habits die hard.

He stepped deftly to the side, thankful for the low center of gravity, the weight on his limbs that seemed to settle so perfectly. He was a hunter, expertly trained, born to do exactly what he was doing.

He grabbed the knife as she ran past.

Ruby skidded to a stop, nearly pitched forward by her own momentum, and turned on him, her eyes wide and black. "Dean…"

He twirled the weapon in his fingers, watching the blade glint in the dim light. "Well, well, well. How the tables have turned."

"You don't want to do this." Her eyes were back to their usual green, her voice begging with a chilly undertone. "I can help save you."

He snorted. "Yeah, like I'm falling for that one again."

She stepped forward, not enough to get within striking distance, but enough to show him that his voice had wavered. "I know a spell. Pretty powerful one. It can take you both off the map. Nothing will be able to find you."

His last conversation with his brother ran through his head. _Off the map. Hiding in plain sight. A fresh start. No more demons._

He must have let his guard down, must've dropped the knife that quarter of an inch that she needed, because she was on top of him in an instant. Her hand wrapped around his, nails digging deeply into the tanned flesh. He threw her off with more effort than he'd expected, bucking and jerking on the cool floor.

Dean scrambled to his knees, keeping himself low as she ran at him again. This time he was ready for the attack. The knife sliced cleanly through her stolen skin, sending up a shower of red sparks as she convulsed against the blessed steel.

He pulled the knife out of the blonde's body and stood, wiping the dust from himself. He looked back at the door, guarded by demons that still seemed to be under orders not to attack. His gaze turned to the only other door, the one to the hallway. The one that his brother and Foras had disappeared behind.

"Hang on, man," he whispered, clutching the knife protectively as he started toward the door, "I'm coming."

o0o0o0o0o

An invisible force rested on his chest, settling there, crushing him. Through the haze brought on by the lack of oxygen he could remember. Remember claws digging in deep, binging fresh blood welling to the surface, spilling down an old shirt, pooling on the floor as yellow eyes sparked to malicious life from the shadows.

He was vaguely aware of a door banging open, but it sounded far off, unimportant. His head swam, deep and heavy, his mind unable to focus until the horrible force had been pulled from his chest.

Sam drew in a deep breath, blinking rapidly, his eyes struggling to focus. He looked toward the door that led to the hallway to see his brother standing there, Ruby's knife grasped firmly in his hand, a deadly glint in his eyes.

"Dean," Foras hissed, drawing out the word, loving the way that it made the man squirm. "Come on. You're not gonna use that thing, are you?"

The older hunter stepped into the room, knife still pointed at the demon. "Of course I am."

Foras grinned, walking up to Dean, taking his sweet time in getting to him, drawing out the agony, the suspense. "But Dean, if you do that, Sammy will die." He stepped up to the hunter, glaring down at him.

Dean blinked, turning his gaze away from the threat, looking down at the knife in his hands. "You're right." His eyes snapped up, glinting off the reflected light from the knife, which had embedded itself deep into Foras' heart when the demon wasn't looking. "Good thing I'm not Dean."

The demon began to convulse, his body shaking against the cool steel of the blade. He turned his head as much as the jolts of red electricity would allow, his fading orange eyes searching for the body that he'd pinned to the wall only to find that his hold had faltered.

Dean Winchester was standing with both feel planted firmly on the floor, his arms crossed over his chest, a tired smirk on his pale face. Foras turned back to the man that had stabbed him, a perfect imposter, right down to the spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. "How?" he managed to choke out as the light in his eyes began to flicker in time with the jumping of his body.

The Dean still holding the knife in the demon's heart smiled. "Biokinesis." The light in the eyes of the creature that held his brother's soul finally died.

Sam pulled Ruby's knife from the creature's chest and looked over the fallen body at his brother. Dean blinked, as if seeing the other man for the first time. "Is it over?" he asked.

Sammy stepped over the body. "I think it is." He smiled. "I think it just might be over now."

Dean matched his smile, matched it perfectly. "Good." He slid from the wall and walked to his brother, string straight into the younger man's eyes. "You know, you are one handsome devil."

"Whatever, Dean."

"No, I mean it. And smart to boot. I never woulda figured out that Foras thought it was a spell. That switch-a-roo plan was brilliant."

Sam shrugged, surprised at the way his muscles worked now, they way they felt. Everything was different, more compact, but somehow better. Stronger. And it just felt right, like he fit into the skin somehow. Had he had time to actually think about that before, when they'd first changed, he might have found it odd, but now… now he couldn't have cared less. Dean was safe. That was all that mattered.

"Couldn't have done it without you," Sam said.


	11. Epilogue

All right. Here we go. The epilogue. Wow.

Again, I'm sorry about the delays in posting. This time, at least, I wasn't sick. I was working on making a Supernatural: Charlie The Unicorn 2. I'm under more pressure to make this one good, as the actors might find it :)

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing, as usual. I didn't expect this one to be too popular, and you guys surprised me. Thanks a lot.

* * *

He gazed into the mirror, looked at the familiar stubble, the square jaw, the spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the eyes that now looked slightly less haunted than usual. "Dean," he said as the older man walked from the bathroom and into the motel room proper, "can you change me back now?"

"Why? Thought you wanted to get laid."

Sam scowled into the mirror, an expression that seemed too out-of-place on his brother's face. "You could have done it back at the warehouse."

"Now where's the fun in that? Besides, it's a good way to confuse your enemies."

The younger man spun around to face his brother. "All the demons ran off when we killed their boss."

"But we didn't know that until we got back here all safe and sound."

"Exactly. We're safe now. Fix it."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But, uh, did you think about it?"

"About what?" Sammy asked.

"What we talked about earlier. About changing things. Being free?"

Sam faltered. "What?" He stared at his brother as Dean moved forward, placed both hands on his shoulders, and closed his eyes. Sam let his own eyes slide shut as that now-familiar warmth flowed into him, changing him, building him back up to an imposing six-foot-four, lengthening his nose, his hair, his legs.

He opened his eyes as he felt it stop, looked down at Dean and offered the older man a sad smile. "You know we can't do that."

Dean shook his head. "Too late for that, man." He stepped back, behind his brother, and turned the taller man toward the mirror.

Sam gaped at his reflection, at the shoulder-length blonde hair, the sparkling blue eyes, the lankiness of his new figure. He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the strong pull of muscles beneath lightly tanned skin. "Dean…?"

His brother stepped up beside him, looking up and smiling with crooked, gapped teeth. Dark brown eyes shone from a pock-marked face, swimming above a ragged line of bright freckles. Shaggy red hair hung in his face. Sam gazed down at the chubby man before him, his eyes and mouth wide.

"Dean?"

The man shrugged. "You said you wanted to know what I really look like. This is, uh, the closest I can come. I just, um, undid everything that I can remember doing."

"You, uh…"

"You ever seen me eat? It figures, right?" He spun and headed toward the bathroom. "Just don't get used to it, ok?"

He followed his brother with his eyes. "You're gonna change back?"

Dean stopped at the door. "No. I figure it's time for a change. Maybe another chance. If you don't want to, I'm not gonna stop you, but I think it's for the best."

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?"

"You kidding? Wiping clean the slate, starting over as completely new people? Of course I've thought of it. Sammy, nobody knows who we are now, no_thing_ knows. We're safe. We can do whatever we want to."

Sam nodded. "Guess you're right."

"'Course I'm right. I'm older."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "that must be it." He gazed at his brother, at the way he was supposed to look, the things he'd changed just to feel acceptable in society. He remembered the hurt look in Dean's eyes, and suddenly knew where all of that insecurity had come from, knew that he had maybe one chance to fix it, to rebuild the confidence that the real Dean Winchester had lost long ago, to make everything right. "And for the record, I think you look great."

Dean turned and flashed him a crooked smile. "Yeah, you would. You always had great taste in guys."

Sam sighed as his brother entered the bathroom and closed the door. It had been decided without words, the way that they'd always decided the important things. They would start over, wipe the slate. The whole world lay before them. Anything and everything was possible. He turned back to the mirror and smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he muttered, pulling the mop back into a sloppy ponytail, "I could work with this."

* * *

Well, that's it. Maybe not the ending that y'all had in mind, but I liked it. So, review if you liked or hated it, and I'll see you later. Thanks again for all the love!


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